


Birdbrain

by handwrittenhello



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bird Jaskier | Dandelion, Broken Bones, Fluff and Humor, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied Sexual Content, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer of Vengerberg, Multi, One Shot, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Wing Injury, geralt needs a vacation, magical transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handwrittenhello/pseuds/handwrittenhello
Summary: Jaskier gets turned into a bird. It’s not what you would think.--“Seriously?” Geralt groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “She turned you into a fucking peacock?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 26
Kudos: 336





	Birdbrain

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime in between the djinn and the dragon hunt. Geralt, Yennefer and Jaskier have probably come across each other a couple of times since the djinn. This can be read as established relationship or not, up to you!
> 
> \--
> 
> A thousand thanks to [ Prudabaga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prudabaga/pseuds/Prudabaga) for the beta!

The thing about Jaskier was that he was never quiet. From sunup to sundown he talked, sang, talked some more, did some vocal warmups, and generally made a nuisance of himself until Geralt snapped at him. Nighttime was no different; asleep, Jaskier was wont to toss and turn, and Geralt would wake up at least five times a night to the sound of him sighing in his sleep or shifting noisily in his bedroll.

So Geralt thought it was odd when, as they bedded down for the night in an inn near Vengerberg, Jaskier didn’t fill the silence with inane comments or snippets of song.

“Cat got your tongue?” Geralt asked wryly. He would never admit it, but sometimes he liked the sounds Jaskier made, liked that they represented a human who was unapologetically not afraid of him.

“Dunno. Feel kind of weird, I guess.”

“Weird as in I need to fetch a healer?”

“No, it’s probably nothing. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was poisoned or something, seeing as how that woman downstairs looked like she wanted to murder me.”

“Hmm. Bed her husband?”

“No! I don’t think the music was to her liking, is all. Some people just don’t have the ear for true art.”

“Or she was sick of your peacocking around.”

Jaskier gaped at him, mouth opening and closing a few times. Geralt smirked and continued to clean his sword.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” was the response Jaskier eventually landed on, and their conversation quickly died.

They went to sleep in silence, with only the crackling of the fire for company.

Geralt didn’t even realize he had slept the night through until he woke to weak sunlight streaming through the window. Sitting up, he glanced over at the other bed, assuming he wouldn’t find Jaskier there, given how quiet it was.

There was, in fact, nobody in the bed. Instead, he caught sight of brilliant blue and green feathers. At that moment, beady black eyes opened, staring directly at him.

Where was Jaskier? And why, dear gods, was there a _peacock_ in his bed, looking haughtily at Geralt like he might be a particularly interesting bug?

The peacock shimmied out from under the blankets it was tangled in, shook out its feathers, then hopped from there onto the table, so it was eye-level with Geralt.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Geralt wondering how in the world Jaskier had managed to sneak himself _out_ of the room and a peacock _into_ the room, and the peacock probably wondering the same thing. Then it reared its head back and _screeched._ Geralt instantly regretted his sensitive witcher hearing; the cry pierced right through his ears, and it was only decades of training that kept him from flinching.

A vibration against his chest caught his attention; he looked down to see his medallion trembling against his chest. Was there magic nearby? The peacock must be, for there was no way otherwise for it to have shown up in their room unnoticed by Geralt.

“What are you?” Geralt demanded, feeling more than a little foolish talking to a bird. With magic, though, anything was possible. “And where’s Jaskier?”

The peacock let out another ear-piercing cry and hopped down from the table, stalking over to where Jaskier’s lute lay on the floor.

“Hey, get away from there,” Geralt shooed, leaning down to grab the peacock before it could break anything. If he let the bard’s precious lute get damaged, Jaskier would never let him hear the end of it.

The peacock snapped at him as he got close, and would have taken off a finger or two if Geralt’s quick reflexes hadn’t made him pull back in time.

“Stop that, you stupid bird!” Geralt tried again to grab for the peacock, but was too slow. It scampered away, clucking wildly. If it kept this up, pretty soon Geralt would have all sorts of upset guests knocking on his door with noise complaints.

He paused for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. He tried to think rationally. Jaskier was missing, but Geralt hadn’t heard him leave; there was a very upset peacock in his room, which he hadn’t heard appear; and his medallion was trembling, which indicated magic of some sort was at play.

Hoping against hope that he was wrong, Geralt looked up at the peacock again. It stared back at him, cocking its head. “Jaskier?” he asked.

The peacock bobbed its head once. Fuck. “Can you understand me, or was that a coincidence?” Another head bob. _Fuck._

“What did you _do_?” he asked, annoyed at the trouble Jaskier had _yet again_ caused. Jaskier apparently took issue with it, because he reared back and let out another sharp screech. “Stop that, do you want the entire town to come complaining?” he snapped. Jaskier glared, but shut up.

When he tried to approach the lute this time, Geralt let him. Jaskier studied it appraisingly for a few seconds, then leant down and plucked at a few strings with his beak. Four notes, over and over again, which brought to mind a ballad Jaskier had once written about a sorceress who liked to curse her lovers.

“ _The Enchantress's Vengeance_? A sorceress did this?” Geralt clarified, earning himself another head bob. Oh, fuck. The woman from last night. “Seriously?” he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “She turned you into a fucking peacock?” It was torture—not only for the bard, but for Geralt himself, too. A peacock was maybe the only thing more ostentatious and eye-catching than Jaskier himself, just as loud, and would be entirely too difficult to travel with.

He would have to find a mage to reverse the spell; he highly doubted it was the kind that wore off naturally. And chances were that the sorceress who had done this had already skipped town. To reverse a spell that someone else had cast, they would need to find someone particularly powerful, capable of overriding her power.

“Come on, birdbrain,” Geralt growled, beginning to pack up their things. The earlier they left, the quicker he could get Jaskier back to his normal, annoying-but-capable self.

\--

They traveled through three towns without hearing even a whisper of a rumor about any magic users nearby.

What Geralt did hear, however, was people gossiping about the witcher who traveled with a peacock. Some marveled at an unfeeling beast who apparently had a soft spot for beautiful things, who bewitched helpless and exotic animals to do his dark bidding.

There were also, as you might expect, many jokes about the witcher’s large and beautiful _cock_.

Geralt didn’t let any of it bother him; he stayed focused on his mission, determined to restore Jaskier as quickly as possible. He was mainly concerned that the longer they went, the more Jaskier would become a possible target, either by bandits looking to enter the exotic pet trade, or by people who wished to have leverage over a witcher, and would use the now-helpless Jaskier against him.

Frustrated, Geralt made camp for them in a clearing off the road that night, tired of trying to explain to innkeepers why he needed to take his pet peacock with him into his room, and that no, the stables were simply not an option. _Maybe I should make him sleep in the stables,_ Geralt thought. _Might teach him a lesson about pissing off powerful women who could eat him for breakfast._

Geralt threw a pouch full of dried fruits and nuts towards Jaskier for him to pick at, and continued setting up camp and taking care of Roach. However, he didn’t hear any sounds from Jaskier.

He looked up and saw Jaskier staring at him, then glancing at the pouch on the ground, then back at Geralt. “What?” he grunted.

Jaskier pecked once at the strings holding the pouch closed, then looked up again balefully, as if to say, _See?_

Oh. No fingers. Geralt set down Roach’s saddle and opened the pouch, taking out a handful of food. Steeling himself for an awkward situation, Geralt held out a raisin pinched between two fingers. “Feeding you by hand, what’s next? You’re getting spoiled,” he teased.

He wasn’t expecting Jaskier to bite his entire hand. Apparently he wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

“Ah!” Geralt definitely didn’t yelp, because he was a witcher, and witchers were used to pain. He reared back and dropped the raisin.

It disappeared scarcely a second later, gone down Jaskier’s formidable beak. Alright then. Maybe Jaskier’s pride wouldn’t let him be hand-fed. Whatever the reason, Geralt wasn’t looking to be bitten again.

He poured the rest of the pouch’s content on the ground, feeling strangely betrayed. Jaskier ate the rest of his meal without further complaint or injury, and they spent the night on opposite sides of the fire.

Geralt tried and failed not to be upset about it.

\--

By the second week, both of them were unbearably antsy. Geralt was constantly on alert for potential threats, becoming more paranoid with every passing day. Meanwhile, Jaskier had taken to flying into trees whenever they stopped for a rest, his green and blue coloring helping to hide him from sight until even Geralt with his enhanced senses had trouble picking him out.

It was on one of their longer rests that trouble finally showed.

They had stopped for a couple hours to let Roach rest and eat a late lunch themselves. Jaskier, when he was done eating, roosted in some branches above where Roach was tied up, and Geralt left him to nap.

He had also taken the opportunity to set up a couple of snares, hoping to catch something he could eat later that night. After he set them up, he went for a quick dip in the river nearby, eager to cool off from the heat of the day.

So it wasn’t until he returned, dripping with river water, that he heard the voices coming from their camp.

“Shit, there’s not a coin to be found. You pick the worst fucking targets, Markus, I swear.”

“Not my fault he’s a cheap bastard! Besides, bet those swords could fetch a pretty penny. Look at ‘em, think one a’ them’s silver? Could melt it down real nice.”

“A silver sword? Are you fucking mad? You had to pick the _one_ camp that belongs to a fucking witcher! Come on, let’s go, before the whoreson gets back and kills us stone-cold.”

“Hang on a minute. Did you see that? Something just moved. I just saw something move, look, in the tree, there.”

“You’re fucking daft, Markus. What are you doing, get out of the godsdamn _tree,_ for Melitele’s sake.”

Some rustling, a sharp snap, and a squawk. “Ha! Gotcha. Lookit, bet this one’ll fetch a nice price at market.”

“What is that, a fucking pheasant?”

“Dunno, but lookit, got lots of meat on ‘im.”

Jaskier, meanwhile, was screeching his head off. Geralt heard the sound of frantically flapping wings, and knew it was past time to intervene. He didn’t have his swords, but he did have intimidation on his side.

He lobbed a rock at the bandit not holding Jaskier, nailing him right above the ear. The bandit shrieked and took off into the forest, yelling about witchers come to kill them all. The other one, Markus, took one look around, saw amber eyes gleaming out from the brush, and abruptly dropped Jaskier and ran.

Jaskier landed hard, right on his outstretched wing. Geralt heard something snap and Jaskier screeched even louder, flapping his uninjured wing wildly through the dust.

“Jaskier! Jaskier, stop, you’ll hurt yourself even more.” Geralt quickly strode over to him and grasped his uninjured wing in one hand and his legs in the other, firmly putting a stop to his thrashing. “ _Jaskier.”_

Jaskier stopped moving entirely, save for a tremble running through his entire body. Geralt shifted his hold so that Jaskier sat on his lap, wings outstretched. He could feel Jaskier’s too-quick heartbeat pounding away, but as they sat there quietly for a few minutes, it slowly calmed down.

Geralt ran a soothing hand down Jaskier’s flank, unable to stop himself from providing much-needed comfort. Rather than shying away, Jaskier leaned into it, muscles finally relaxing fully as the terror and adrenaline left his system.

“There we go,” Geralt soothed, trying to keep him calm, knowing it would help for this next part. “I need to look at your wing, alright?”

Jaskier looked at him with bottomless black eyes, just a hint of fear welling up, but bobbed his head.

Geralt was as gentle as possible, but even just looking at it, he could tell that Jaskier’s wing was broken. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered as he turned the wing this way and that. He finally snapped the bone back in place as quickly as possible, which earned him a loud screech, and tied the wing firmly against Jaskier’s body with some leftover strips of leather he found at the bottom of his pack. There was little else he could do; he knew nothing about bird anatomy and didn’t want to make anything worse. Sadly, this meant he also couldn’t do anything for the pain Jaskier must be in.

By the end of the whole ordeal, Jaskier was once again shaking, and seemed spaced out when Geralt tried to get his attention. He let Jaskier sit in his lap for the rest of the night, occasionally feeding him bits of food. Jaskier didn’t bite him this time.

\--

Geralt didn’t know why he was surprised that the first mage they found turned out to be Yennefer. Ever since his ill-advised djinn wish, they kept running into each other; he would never admit it, but he eagerly anticipated each occurrence. Something about her was magnetically alluring.

“Yennefer,” he greeted, pulling Roach to a stop outside of the manor she had taken residence in.

“Geralt. New pet?” She sauntered over, taking in the strange sight of a witcher accompanied by a peacock perched on his horse’s back.

“It’s Jaskier.”

“What about him?” She crossed her arms. “Has he found himself another djinn to piss off?”

“No, the bird. It’s Jaskier.”

She laughed in delight, reaching out a hand to stroke through his tail feathers. Jaskier squawked and flared out his unbroken wing, nearly unbalancing himself enough to fall off Roach. “Oh, hush. If you want my help, you’ll have to pay my price.”

“How much?” Geralt grunted, pulling out his coin purse. They were getting low on coin, as he hadn’t taken any contracts since Jaskier had been changed, but hopefully he would have enough.

“I don’t want your coin. I want a favor.”

That never boded well. “I won’t be your puppet again,” he growled. The last thing he wanted was to end up in another jail cell with Jaskier defenseless and injured.

She smiled. “As if you could stop me. Lucky for you, I don’t want a puppet; I simply desire your company.” Then she sniffed. “And that you bathe before joining us in the sitting room.”

Geralt did, actually, enjoy the chance to wash off the dust of the road, and it was only apprehension at what sort of destruction Jaskier and Yennefer could get up to unsupervised that propelled him out of the bath.

He headed to the sitting room, half expecting to see Jaskier and Yennefer at each other’s throats. Maybe even literally; he had seen the sharp spurs Jaskier carried on his feet, and was sure he wouldn’t hesitate to use them.

However, a different sight entirely greeted him. Jaskier was perched next to where Yennefer lounged on a couch, looking entirely at ease. A bowl of fruit sat by him, and Geralt watched as Yennefer held out a grape.

Geralt was entirely surprised when, rather than snapping at her, Jaskier delicately accepted the grape, eyes closing in appreciation.

“What the hell is this?” Geralt asked, entirely bewildered. Last he knew, Jaskier absolutely _hated_ Yennefer, and never hesitated to let it be known.

“Jealous?” Yennefer teased. “If you ask nicely, maybe you can have some too.”

Geralt didn’t answer. Yennefer turned her attention back to Jaskier.

“Pretty bird,” she cooed, feeding him another grape. Jaskier gently took it from her fingers, preening under the attention, which Geralt thought was a little unfair.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he warned. “He’ll bite you.”

“No, he won’t. He knows that _I_ appreciate him,” she said smugly, running a painted fingernail down his neck. Jaskier melted into it, ruffling his tail feathers.

 _Absolute hypocrite,_ Geralt thought. Then he shook himself mentally. Was he really jealous? Was he that desperate for approval?

Geralt shoved those thoughts down, stiffly taking a seat in the armchair across from them. As if she could read his mind, Yennefer threw a knowing glance at him. “Would it kill you to relax a bit? You’ll hardly be good company so tense.”

He made a conscious effort to loosen his muscles. “What brings you so far west?”

“The king of Aedirn has once again requested my presence at court.”

“So naturally, you can be found on the opposite end of the Continent.”

She grinned. “Of course. I’m not the loyal dog at his beck and call that he seems to think I am.” She leaned back, grabbing a glass of wine that had materialized next to her. Jaskier looked wistfully at it. “You, however, owe me a story. How did the fool bard manage to get himself into trouble this time?”

“Don’t know. I woke up and he was like this.”

She sipped at her wine. “Well, that’s boring.”

“He’s the storyteller, not me. Ask him yourself after you change him back.” He didn’t want to say it to her, but he was itching for Jaskier to become human again. Something about talking about him like he wasn’t even there didn’t sit right with Geralt.

“But he’s so much more enjoyable like this.” She stroked another finger down his neck. At Geralt’s flat look, she sighed. “Fine. On the floor,” she instructed Jaskier. He hopped down.

With a wave of her hand, the leather strips binding his wing fell to the floor. Jaskier, as much as he could with a bird’s form, looked nervous.

Yennefer started chanting in Elder, growing louder with each repetition. Jaskier swayed where he stood, his feathers rapidly dropping to the floor. It didn’t look like it hurt, at least, and Geralt was glad for that. Jaskier had had enough pain lately.

A sudden wind came out of nowhere and whipped the feathers into a frenzy. A tornado of blue and green surrounded Jaskier until he was hidden from sight.

The wind died down, Geralt blinked, and suddenly Jaskier was standing before them, completely naked but human.

“Oh, _finally,”_ Jaskier gushed, blinking heavily. “That was horrific. I’m dizzy with relief,” he proclaimed, swaying back and forth rather alarmingly. “Actually, I might need to sit down,” he said, and promptly collapsed on the floor before Geralt could move to catch him.

He knelt down, noting with displeasure that Jaskier’s arm still looked broken, though thankfully he hadn’t landed on it in his fall. Geralt gathered him in his arms, Yennefer watching the whole time.

“I can’t heal his arm, since it was broken in another form. It’ll have to heal naturally,” she said, not looking the slightest bit winded for having just performed a major transformation. “There’s a spare room upstairs on the right.”

Geralt nodded and gathered Jaskier into his arms, careful not to jostle his arm as he carried him upstairs. The spare room was plain but comfortable, with a plush bed that Geralt set Jaskier down on, pulling up the sheets to preserve his modesty. He would have to remember to grab clothes out of Roach’s saddlebags for Jaskier. He made sure that Jaskier was situated comfortably, arm propped up by several pillows, before concluding that there was little else he could do at the moment, and leaving him to rest.

Downstairs, Yennefer was still seated on the couch, toying with a peacock feather. Must have been leftover from the transformation. “He’s settled then?” she asked, and Geralt nodded. “Good. He likely won’t wake until tomorrow, at the earliest. The transformation required a good amount of energy.” Her blood-red lips curved upwards. “Which means I have you all to myself,” she purred, and he felt helplessly drawn to her, a fish snared by a fisherman’s hook.

He fell to his knees before her, where she captured his lips with her own, fingernails digging into his scalp with the best kind of prickling pain.

He gave as good as he got, and several breathtaking hours later, they lay beside each other in her outrageously comfortable bed. As the moon rose higher in the sky, Yennefer eventually drifted off to sleep, satisfied smile still painted onto her face.

Geralt felt more relaxed than he had in weeks, but still found himself unable to fall asleep. He settled for meditating through the night, then rose with the sun, heading to the stables where he had left Roach. He brushed her down, making sure she had plenty of food and water, then simply stood petting her, content to be in her silent company.

Eventually, the sun rose high enough that he figured Jaskier would be waking soon, and he fetched a set of clothes for Jaskier out of the saddlebags and headed back inside the manor.

Jaskier was awake and sitting up in bed when he slowly pushed open the door to the guest room. He smiled in greeting, making a grabby hand towards the clothes that Geralt proffered. “Oh, yes please. I’ve missed the soft embrace of silk,” he moaned.

Geralt looked pointedly at the silk sheets Jaskier was wrapped in.

“I’ve just spent weeks as a peacock, Geralt, you can’t argue with me. I’m in a delicate state.”

“Delicate enough to miss breakfast?”

“Of course not.” He untangled himself from the sheets and hopped out of bed. When he suddenly gasped, clutching his arm, Geralt cursed himself for not bringing anything to splint it with. “Fuck, forgot about that. Guess I was too distracted by my wonderful newfound humanity.”

Geralt stepped closer, gently taking his arm and examining it. He paused, considering, then took the sheet and ripped it into strips, creating a sling.

As he was wrapping the sling around Jaskier’s body, he became uncomfortably aware of Jaskier’s nudity. He didn’t know why it was bothering him now; they had traveled together for years and had long passed the point of embarrassment at undressing in front of each other.

He finished wrapping the sling as quickly as possible, eager to get away. He knew his blush wasn’t visible, thanks to his mutations, but the feeling of awkwardness remained. He waited, shifting his weight from side to side, as Jaskier got dressed, and together they headed downstairs, where Yennefer had organized a breakfast fit for kings.

“Jaskier. I would say you're looking better, but I don’t know, I think the feathers suited you more than that doublet,” Yennefer goaded. Jaskier was in fact wearing only the doublet, sans chemise; it was too difficult to put on with his arm in its current state.

“I look amazing in any form and you know it,” Jaskier replied. “Besides, I seem to remember you saying something about appreciating me? Admit it, Yennefer, I’m the light of your life.”

Geralt quickly busied himself with eating so he wouldn’t have to hear their bickering. He had thought they were past this, what with how close they seemed to be yesterday. He guessed it was just second nature for them by now.

He remained mostly silent through breakfast, only injecting the occasional comment when Jaskier stopped for breath or Yennefer asked him a direct question. Jaskier was certainly enjoying having human vocal cords again; he and Yennefer talked about every topic under the sun. Eventually Yennefer asked for the story she was owed, and he launched into it with great drama.

He told her how a vengeful sorceress had sought to steal his voice away from him, forcing him into a peacock’s form. He told her about the many dangers the road had posed, especially for a poor helpless bird such as himself. He told her of the bandit attack, and how he had bravely fought them off, using nothing but his wits and his claws.

Geralt jumped in. “That didn’t happen.”

Jaskier deflated. “Yes, but the _drama,_ Geralt. What’s a good story without a courageous young protagonist?”

“Young? I never would have guessed from the grey in your hair,” Yennefer replied.

Jaskier waved her off. “You’re missing the point. The _point is,_ it was all very exciting, and I was very tragically wounded in the fracas.” He waved his bound arm for emphasis as best he could.

Yennefer sipped at her apple juice. “Well, I suppose I did ask for a good story.”

“That’s my specialty, dear,” Jaskier said, winking.

A good story. Is that how Jaskier saw the whole fiasco? Nothing about the fear he felt, the pain? Nothing about the frustration Geralt saw grow every day that passed without finding a mage? “That’s it, then? All tied up with a bow and a happy ending?” he asked, unable to stop the cynicism from leaking through. He instantly regretted his words when he saw Jaskier’s smile dim.

“You know I like a good ending, Geralt.” His words were quiet, and Geralt sensed that this had suddenly become very important and close to the heart. “Can’t stop myself from being naïve, I guess.” He laughed self-deprecatingly.

Geralt had fucked up. He knew it, Jaskier knew it, even Yennefer knew it. Thank the gods, then, that she had the social grace to interject. “Not naivete. Optimism. Believe me, there’s a difference,” she commented.

Geralt had to fix this, had to make it right. “I like that about you,” he admitted, laying his heart bare. It was important to Jaskier, though, and important to him to make sure Jaskier knew it. “You always know what to say to bring the mood up. Whether it’s to me or to a crowd.”

“He’s right, bard. You're unbearably cheerful,” Yennefer said. “But, gods know why, I like having you around anyway.”

“Wow, Yennefer, was that a note of affection I heard?” Jaskier teased, but his voice wavered. “I might start to think that the two of you _don’t_ find me unbearably dramatic and annoying.”

“We don’t.” The speed with which Geralt responded seemed to shock Jaskier. “Jaskier, I don’t care if you're in bird form or human. I’ll always want you around, drama and all.”

Jaskier was at a loss for words. Geralt waited for him to gather himself, picking at the elaborate tablecloth all the while. “I guess I have to find that sorceress and thank her, huh?” he finally offered.

“Oh, please,” Yennefer scoffed. “The only reason you have to find her is so that I can curse her into oblivion for daring to mess with what’s mine.”

“I’m touched,” Jaskier said, putting a hand to his heart.

Geralt looked between him and Yennefer, taking in the new dynamic they all seemed to be settling into. He realized he wanted them, both of them, but rather than scaring him, the thought of it excited him.

“What now?” he found himself asking.

“Well, I’m assuming you don’t have any pressing contracts,” Yennefer said. “As I said before, I desire your company. Both of you.” She looked at Jaskier as she said this.

“Well, Geralt? It would be rude to decline such an invitation,” Jaskier said. At Geralt’s nod, he nodded too, decisively. “Right then. We are low on coin, after all. It’ll take at least a week of my playing in the local tavern before it’s replenished.”

An entire week in a luxurious manor, nobody around but the three of them. Geralt never took vacations, but damn if this wasn’t exactly that.

He couldn’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a moment to leave kudos (or even better, a comment!) if you liked it!


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